Speak to Me Sunday: Dangling Hangers and Empty Drawers

Friday afternoon I was cleaning out the boys' room. Now that the two older boys are officially on their own, it was time to put that space in order and officially convert it into a nice guest bedroom.

So I purchased large bins and got to work tackling the bookcase, desk, closet, and even under the beds. I categorized, purged, and stored. There was a flurry of texts going back and forth: Does this still fit? Do you want to keep your 5th grade rec leage football troophy? Is there any reason to hold on to all these empty dvd cases? Do you remember this?

(Sidenote: a pair of antique cherry twin beds with a nightstand are for sale)

At the end of the day I sat on one of the beds comtemplating the empty bookcases, hangers, and drawers. We moved into our house on May 22, 1998 and from the very beginning the two older boys shared a room. Being only 22 months apart in age, they grew up as brothers and best friends with a shared love of Lego, Pokemon battles, Yu-Gi-Oh cards, and strategy boardgames. 

I remembered one of the few times they had an argument and how, when it escalated, we separated them by putting them to bed in different rooms. Later, a ferocious thunderstorm with crashing thunder and roaring wind caused them to come running into our bedroom. Jonathan didn't want to sleep alone because it was too scary; Nicholas said the back bedroom was making funny noises. 

So we tucked them into their own beds--in the room they shared--and as we were walking out we heard them whispering "I'm sorry" to each other. 

It was a sweet memory, one which provided a stark contrast to the dangling hangers and empty drawers, but it put me on that slippery slope of wondering if we had done enough, gave enough, prepared enough. 

Then I looked at a stack of college textbooks on Jonathan's desk, all from his college accounting classes. Starting on the bottom, every book shored up the next one, like stepping stones going up and up until the top four books--study guides for each of the four sections of the CPA exam. Every book below those top four books taught, molded, and prepared Jonathan for that exact moment of when, at the end of grad school, he took (and passed) each exam. 

Strangely enough, the stack of books gave me comfort. Wasn't parenthood like that? A series of steps in which we teach, mold, and prepare? Steps that are not always steady, or sure, and that aren't always defined, or pretty, but with faith, grace, and fortitude we muster on, clinging to the hope that when we finally release them our children will fly? Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said that faith was taking that first step when you can't see the staircase, but I think every step is a first step. Every moment. Every day. Calling us to walk by faith and not by sight. 

So despite the emptiness of the room, and never mind the dangling hangers and empty drawers, I knew it was all good. 

All of it.